A Girl Named Allison
by Pjazz
Summary: A sequel to A Girl Named River. Catherine Weaver has a new mission for ace scavenger Vinny Savage. Kidnap Allison Young from under the nose of John Connor's Resistance. Chapter 4. Faced with John Connor's wrath, Vinny chooses a radical lifestyle change.
1. Chapter 1

**A Girl Named Allison**

**A Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles fanfic**

**by Pjazz**

**2010**

_Note: This is a sequel to 'A Girl Named River'. _

_Rated T. Adult themes and strong language._

_Not read 'A Girl Named River'? Okay, quick synopsis. _

_Vinny Savage, mercenary and scavenger, encounters Firefly's River Tam in the ruins of LA, arrived from the future due to Catherine Weaver's timetravel experiments. Vinny agrees to hand her over in return for shelter and protection at Zeira Corps HQ. Only he doesn't count on falling in love with River and is shattered when she leaves him to return to the future..._

**1**

In the weeks following River's departure I did pretty much what most guys do when they lose a girl they care about: I drank, smoked, watched way too much porn and acted like I didn't care.

Who was I kidding? It didn't help. I still felt blue most days. Lonely and adrift: a tiny grain of sand lodged under the floorboards of life. I guess like measles, if you wait till you're 25 years old before falling in love it hits you all the harder.

Catherine Weaver was true to her word; for delivering River to her I'm given a suite in the Sea World complex. Hot and cold running water, 24 hour elecricity, 60 inch plasma, dvd library and a well-stocked freezer. All the comforts. What I didn't have was anyone I cared about to share it with.

Zeira Corp HQ is a weird place to live, I'll tell you that much for nothing. Catherine Weaver is metal, an advanced TX model, but the human resistance leave her alone. Her daughter Savannah, myself and a few lab geeks who live on the premises - pasty faced kids who look like they've never seen sunlight in their lives - are all human, but Skynet leaves us alone too. Sea World seems to be neutral territory, a tiny Switzerland in the middle of a war zone.

After three weeks moping around and feeling sorry for myself, I start to show an interest in my surroundings. I begin by shaving and turning off the round the clock porn. There are only so many times you can watch Jenna Jameson be triple-tagged before it gets old. And she's been dust for twenty years. Most of her anyway.

I get up early each morning and run laps round the pool. My old man was a boxer, a contender, and some of my earliest memories of him are tagging along while he did his roadwork during the early dawn hours in Orlando, Florida. Pop in his sweats and me on my five-gear Schwin pedaling like crazy to keep up.

_Good times. Gone forever._

Each day the dolphins John and Henry swim in from the ocean to be fed by Savannah Weaver. Most times I join them in the pool. To Savannah's chagrin, John and Henry treat me like a long-lost brother right from the off, whereas she apparently had to earn their trust over several months. It probably helps that, names to the contrary, John and Henry are female dolphins. I've always been partial to the ladies and, River apart, they've always seemed partial to me. After this Savannah heads indoors to take care of whatever business she takes care of while I strip off and sunbathe. I'm now a medium tan colour. All over.

After a month of this I'm bored out of my skull.

Be careful what you wish for, they say, or you might just get it. Never a truer word was spoken. I miss River, but most of all I miss my old life. Sure, I was a rat, scavenging for stuff to trade, but a successful rat nonetheless. The adrenalin rush from outwitting the machines and the human militias, who could be just as deadly if the mood took them, is hard to replace. Yeah, I was scared shitless more times than I care to remember and convinced I was gonna die more than once, but the buzz was indescribable and can't be duplicated swimming with tame dolphins and sunning my ass. I need a challenge.

Enter the ice princess herself, Savannnah Weaver.

We sparred with each other almost from the moment we met - admittedly I held a knife to her neck and threatened to slice her. Does she hold a grudge? You betcha. She takes digs at me for not being willing to lay down my life for the cause. But dead guy's generally don't give a shit about anything, especially machines ruling the world. I'd rather be a live coward than a dead hero. And anyway, having a terminator for a mom doesn't exactly give her the right to the high moral ground, a fact I take great pleasure informing her of.

But all this friction produces heat. Physics 101. There's no denying I feel a _frisson_ between us whenever we're together. And I've a notion she feels it too, only she's too proud and stubborn to acknowledge it. Women, eh.

Most evenings I take my meals in the main dining suite accompanied by Savannah and one or more of the lab geeks who infest the place. At the end of the meal Savannah normally upbraids me for drinking too much and, as she puts it, being loud and snarky to her friends.

"What the fuck's snarky mean?"

"Sarcastic and belittling. Those men are ten times more intelligent than you, and they do very important work for the company."

"And they've never lived a day in their lives."

"What do you mean by that? Because they haven't whored around and drank themselves stupid like you?"

"Exactimundo."

A roll of the eyes. "You're the most conceited braggart I've met in my life."

"Thanks."

"It isn't a compliment!"

But my favourite evenings are when Catherine Weaver joins us. For a machine she has surprisingly good taste in wine and the frosty bearing of european aristocracy. She has a dry wit and easily deflects my clumsy attempts at uncovering her role in the war and that of Zeira Corp.

However, there is one evening when I do get some solid info, though the dinner doesn't start particularly well. The tech dweebs are driving me crazy with their work gossip...

"The test of the quantum flux wave modulater went well."

Me. Deep into my second bottle of wine: "The what what what went well?"

"The quantum flux wav-"

"Speak english, nerd boy."

"That modulates-"

"Simple english or I'll give you the wedgie of your life."

"It's a time travel device," Savannah explains. "And stop bullying poor Cecil."

"Cecil! That's his name? Hahaha! Priceless!"

Cecil blushes a deep red. Poor bastard. He's got gingers curls, a big nose and thick glasses. Mother Nature really did a number on him. Probably won't get laid this millennia.

"How far have you travelled into the future?" I ask, for once genuinely curious. I haven't forgotten the sight of River seemingly vanishing into thin air.

"500 years. To River's time," Catherine Weaver answers. The dweebs look at her with worship in their eyes. They probably whack off over her picture in their rooms. Me, I'm just about drunk enough to say the stuff I'm about to and not care a hoot about the consequences.

"So that's your little game here at Zeira Corps, huh, Cathy? Time travel experiments. Pile of hooey, you ask me."

"No one asked you," Savannah hisses. "So keep your ill-informed mouth shut."

"It's a very interesting time period," Weaver continues seemingly amused by my outburst. "We are presently trying to study the era and learn as much as we can. The Alliance would appear to be a fascistic organisation. Did it evolve from human origins or was Skynet part of its inception?"

I grab a bottle of wine, upend it and glug the contents down. Everyone looks appalled. It must be like having an ape at the table given the disparity in our intellects and manners.

I toss the bottle aside and belch loudly. I put my right elbow on the table and announce truculently, "Who's for an arm wrestle? Come on, I'll take three of you dweebs on at once."

Not surprisingly there are no takers and I lurch off to my room alone.

And that's how I entertain myself at Stalag Zeira Corps.

But I'm not the only one who makes a fool of myself on these occasions. Even Miss Prim Britches isn't immune.

Savannah doesn't enjoy these evenings quite as much as I do. Weaver has a way of monopolising all the attention in the room to the detriment of her daughter. And Savannah likes to be the centre of attention that much is plain. But she's a sulky princess to her mother's imperious ice queen. She drinks too much herself sometimes and is prone to embarrassing herself, something Weaver relishes pointing out.

"Will you help my daughter back to her room, Mr Savage? She appears to be experiencing problems dealing with gravity."

"S'okay. I'm fine._ Oops_!"

I lift her off the floor and carry her to her room, resisting the urge for a quick grope while she's draped over my shoulder. What a standup guy I am. Truly.

"Watch your hands!"

"Don't flatter yourself."

"What's that I can feel on my butt?"

"It's a sausage."

"Oh God, you sick pervert!"

"From dinner. You sat on a sausage and it stuck to your pants."

Later the same night a knock on the door of my room wakes me. I'm a light sleeper at the best of times. I slide the nine mill I keep loaded from under the pillow, slip the safety and open the door a crack. It's Savannah. She's not wearing very much. Neither am I come to that. We stare at each. She lowers her eyes. Her long red hair cascades forward obscuring her face. Maybe she's been crying, or it's my imagination, or maybe a trick of the light.

"Please?" she whispers. "Don't make me beg."

I don't.

Like I said, a standup guy.

Spent, I roll over on to my side of the bed. Savannah rests her head against my chest. "That was incredible," she gasps.

"Ain't it always?"

"And so modest."

"Give me five and we'll go again."

"Five, he says. Quite the optimist too."

We lie together side by side, our bodies a comfortable, familiar fit. Skin on skin, still damp from coitus. Lately Savannah's been spending more time in my bed than her own. Neither of us is getting much sleep. Neither of us is complaining.

"You still miss her, don't you?"

"Who?"

"You know perfectly well who. River."

I shrug. "Missing her won't change anything."

"I miss her too. D'you think she misses us?"

"Doubt it. From her perspective we've been dust for 500 years."

"That's one way of looking at it. Another is she won't be born for 500 years."

"And never the twain shall meet. And if she's not born yet how can she miss us?"

"I don't know. I think maybe everything occurs at the same time. The universe, I mean. It's just our perception that's static."

I nod like this makes the slightest sense at all. "River's probably better off where she is."

"I guess. It's nice to know the human race still exists in the future. Though the Alliance does sound very fascist. And then there are the Reivers."

"What the hell are Reivers?"

"I'm not entirely sure. River became very agitated when I questioned her. Something not very nice. I suppose every era has its ogres." Savannah allows her fingers to trace delicate curlicues on my bare chest. It tickles but I resist the urge to laugh. Women tend to take things the wrong way if you laugh during the intimate moments. That's the voice of experience talking.

"You think you'll ever care for me that way?"

"Who says I dont?"

"I do."

Damn. She's a tricky one. "Is what we have so bad?" I lamely offer in return.

"No. It's just...she really got under your skin, didn't she?"

"River was that kind of girl."

A period of blessed silence that is all too brief then another question. "What d'you think you'd be doing now, if Judgement Day hadn't happened?"

I'm on safer ground here. I tell her about my father, a pro boxer, and how I used to watch him train and spar, hanging out in the gym like it was home from home. I even had my own tiny gloves and scaled down heavy bag. "I'd have fought, I think. I'm about 180 pounds. So maybe cruiserweight or boil myself down to super-middle if the money bouts were there."

"Boil yourself down?"

"Yeah. Most boxers fought way below their normal walking around weight. It's a calculated risk they took. My pop was a natural middleweight though. No last minute steam baths for him."

"I can't imagine you enjoying getting hit in the face."

"I wouldn't get hit. Jab and move. I'd be a boxer not a brawler."

"I thought you'd say, I don't know, a gigolo."

"A gigolo? _A gigolo?" _I start laughing. In fact I laugh so hard I can't stop. And it's infectious. Pretty soon Savannah's howling along with me.

"Stop! Please stop! It hurts!" she pleads.

She balls her hands into tiny fists and pounds my chest, tears of mirth streaming down her face. I grasp her wrists and force them back against the pillow. I lean over and kiss her, really kiss her like it means something, anything, in this unholy messed up world of ours, and suddenly we've found our second wind. Her legs scissor invitingly and I slide in just as smooth as you please.

Her mother walks in the door.

"Mr Savage, when you have a moment there is something I would like to discuss with you."

Savannah peers over my shoulder. "Hi, mom."

"Savannah. I'll wait in the other room until you conclude your business with my daughter."

_Conclude my business?_

Savannah's hips continue to grind away but Elvis has left the building so to speak.

"What's wrong? You're all soft."

Can you blame me? Could anyone blame me?

"Your mother..." I trail off. I can't find the words.

"Is outside. It's not like she's watching or listening at the door."

I stare at her in amazement. Do I know this girl? Did I ever know her?

Dressed in jeans and a clean sweater, I join Catherine Weaver in the other room. She's facing the large window that runs the entire length of the room and stares out at the Pacific Ocean off in the distance. It's a calm day. A few infrequent swells mar the seamless blue serenity. She doesn't turn round.

"Uh - what was it you wanted to discuss?" I ask finally.

"I have a mission for you, Mr Savage. A job, if you will. One that should be well within your capabilities."

"I'm sorry - when did I become your lackey? Our business is done. I delivered River to you and that's it."

"I think you'll agree to do as I ask."

"And why's that?"

"Because you're bored, Mr Savage. You miss the excitement of your old life."

I say nothing. It's strange hearing your own private thoughts spoken back at you, by a machine no less.

"Perhaps I am. But that doesn't mean when you say jump I'm gonna say how high."

"You will, of course, be rewarded."

"How so?"

"What do you desire, Mr Savage? Tell me. It's yours."

"A thousand gallons of gasoline. For the Hummer."

"Done."

"Hang on, I haven't agreed to anything yet. What's the mission you've got in mind?"

"I need you to find someone and bring her to me. It is likely to be against her will."

"Her? You want me to kidnap a girl for you? Another one? This is becoming a habit."

"A habit you seem to have a propensiity for. Her name is Allison Young."

"And what are you going to do with her if I bring her here? If you're planning murder then you can count me out."

"Quite the contrary, Mr Savage. I intend to save her life. In less than a week she will be captured by Skynet, tortured and killed."

"How d'you know this?"

"I have my means."

"Why not simply warn her?"

"I have my reasons."

"D'you have a photograph of this Allison Young?"

"But of course."

Weaver hands me a glossy 10x8. I stare at it for what seems like forever. Then I look up. My throat is dry and my voice the merest whisper.

_"...no fucking way..."_

I lose it big time. I rant and I rave, pacing the floor like a caged animal. Presently Savannah wraps herself in a bed sheet and comes to see what the fuss is about. I show her the picture.

"I'm not sure..."

"Oh come on! It's her! It's River. You know it is!"

I'm red faced and shouting so het up am I. Savannah cringes, glances uneasily at her mother and continues to examine the photograph, ostensibly of someone named Allison Young.

"I...don't know, Vinny. This girl is older. Her face has less puppy fat. The lips are maybe thinner too. Hair's lighter..."

I throw my hands up, exasperated. I turn towards Catherine Weaver who has watched my outbursts with something approaching amusement.

"I asssure you, Mr Savage, this girl is not River."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Why should I lie to you?"

"Oh I don't know - because you're a souless, lying machine?"

"Vinny!" Savannah is suddenly fearful and I guess she'd know. "Mom, he didn't mean that."

I force myself to stay calm, keep a level head. It might not be the best idea in the world to provoke the monster in its lair, and I've always had good survival instincts.

"Okay, perhaps you're right. Sorry," I concede. "But you've got to admit it's a helluva coincidence."

"I accept your apology. Do we still have a deal, Mr Savage?"

"I guess we do."

"Good. Then you'll need some details. Allison Young is presently stationed at Serrano Point, the Resistance stronghold, where she is a lieutenant."

"She's one of Connor's people? You didn't mention that."

"I'm mentioning it now."

"Okay, she's at Serrano Point. Know it well."

"You'll need to get inside and ascertain her whereabouts. For that you'll need something valuable to trade. This."

Weaver produces a small hinged box, the type romantics kept wedding rings in back in the day. I open it. Inside is not a diamond ring but a compter chip. I arch my eyebrows.

"It's the chip from a T-800," Weaver explains.

"I thought Skynet engineered these things to self-destruct if they were removed?"

"This is from an older model. You will require a cover story to explain how it came to be in your possession. I'm sure that is not beyond your wit or imagination."

"I'll think of something."

"I have no doubt you will. Deceit is your stock in trade."

It takes one to know one I think. "What do I trade it for?"

"Whatever you think it is worth. It is not important. The girl is."

"And if I find her what then?"

"You bring her to me. She will not be harmed."

"How?"

"Is entirely up to you." Weaver smiles. "Take what you need from the stores. Savannah will accompany you but she is not to enter Serrano Point."

"Why not?"

"Because she is connected to me and Connor's people know this. I do not want my involvement revealed. Under any circumstances. Are we clear on this?"

It's my turn to smile. "You want your metal ass covered. Gotcha."

**-000-**

**No Cameron. But there'll be John, Derek Reese, the Weavers and Allison Young, natch.**

**Four chapters or so. Nothing too heavy or serious.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Girl Named Allison**

**2**

Serrano Point. If the human race ever win this war then some academic not yet born is gonna write the history of the conflict and this place will deserve a chapter all to its self. Like Valley Forge. Or the Alamo. Or Pearl Harbor. Skynet has launched countless assaults and always we've stood firm.

I say we. Myself, I've always hated the place. I've visited several times with stuff to trade and I've never been happier than on leaving, relieved not to be in situ, as it were, if Skynet picked that particular day to launch yet another attack.

I leave Savannah in the Humvee about a mile short of Serrano Point, then proceed the rest of the way on foot. I'm travelling light; just the T-800 chip to barter. It's enough. More than enough. These things are rarer than virgins in Cabo at Spring Break back in the day.

At 250 yards shy of the main gate I stop and wave a white handkerchief, feeling accutely vulnerable out in the open. Suppose someone has an itchy trigger finger? But my luck holds. I'm recognised and a couple of grunts come out to guide me through the minefield and barbed wire that surrounds the fortress.

Once inside I smile, offer a snappy salute and say, "Take me to your leader."

For my trouble I'm dumped in a small dingy room that smells of cordite. In fact the whole place smells of cordite. I wait alone for the best part of an hour. I'm being none too subtly shown my place in the pecking order. No one's gonna rush around for a bottom-feeder like me. Scavengers are right at the base of the pile. Gee, good job I don't take it personally, a more sensitive fella could work up quite an inferiority complex.

Finally the brass arrives in the shape of a tall, muscular guy in combat fatigues. He has short dark hair, tats on his arms and a coupla days worth of beard stubble. Perhaps he thinks it makes him look more manly. It's definitely working; he looks like he could chew through walls. But whoever he is he's not John Connor. I've never met Connor face to face but I've seen him at a distance and this ain't him.

"Okay, scumbag, stop wasting my time and show me what you got," he barks without preamble.

"It's for Connor's eyes only," I tell him.

"Connor's away. I'm Commander Derek Reese, in temporary charge. Whatever you got you can show me or get the hell out."

I take out the little box and flip the lid. Reese stares at it for a long time.

"It's the chip from a -" I begin to explain but he interrupts.

"I know what it is. How'd a bottom feeder like you come by it?"

This I'm ready for. I have a nice little yarn all lined up. Mexico. A firefight between a T-800 and a brave and handsome freedom fighter - me. It's bullshit, of course. But that's the point.

"That's a crock of shit and you know it," Reese sneers. "Scavengers like you don't fight you run and hide under some rock and then come back later to pick up the pieces. Like vultures."

I smile ruefully. "You got me, commander. That's just how it went down. Thing was dead when I got there. I just cut it out. I wouldn't know bravery if it bit me on the ass."

Reese nods, satisfied he's been proved correct. By pandering to his prejudices I've deflected any nasty questions about the chip's provenance. I might not be book smart or number smart but I'm smart like a fox. And hung like a mule.

"Okay, whaddua want to trade for it?"

I name my price. Reese snorts, shakes his head and offers a fraction of what I've asked for. An insult. It's my turn to snort. I make another offer. He counter offers. And so it goes. We haggle. It's expected. Anything less and he'd be suspicious as hell.

"Fine. It's a deal," I say finally, accepting about half of my original price. We shake on it. His handshake is firm but at least he doesn't try and crush my fingers the way some assholes would. I've a feeling this Reese fella's fundamentally a good guy. Does it make me feel bad for tricking him? I wouldn't go that far.

"Good." He takes the chip in its box. "Go see the Quartermaster and he'll give you what you're owed. Then get the hell out."

"With pleasure."

Serrano's QM is an old guy they call Birdy. Why they call him Birdy I've no idea. He's not particularly birdlike far as I can see, being fat and kinda grouchy. Maybe he eats birdseed for lunch or flaps his arms and clucks like a chicken when roused. Beats me.

I follow him around while he collects my stuff from Stores. I've dealt with Birdy before and know him to a be a garrulous fellow who likes the sound of his own voice. Perhaps that's why they call him birdy, because he won't stop twittering.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Savage. Thought perhaps you were dead." He wheezes with laughter as if this is the funniest thing in the world.

"Still above ground, Birdy. And that's the way I intend to keep it."

"Aye, don't we all, God willing."

I refrain from pointing out that if there is a God He's sure got a lousy sense of humour. Instead I ask casually, "Hey Birdy, you know if Allison Young's around?"

"Lt. Young? Why d'you ask?"

"I hear she's hot stuff."

"I wouldn't call her hot stuff exactly. And I'm sure that's not how she sees herself."

"Okay okay, I'm a sexist pig with a 24/7 hard-on. She here or not?"

"Not. You're plumb outta luck, Romeo. She's away on a mission."

I delve a little deeper. Turns out Allison's doing a little scavenging of her own. Pretty hypocritical after the Reese guy's bluster seems to me. She's leading a five man team stripping a power station of its hardware a hundred miles due north of LA. A place called Oakridge. Not due back for several days. Damn.

I figure this is about as much as I can get without arousing Birdy's suspicions so I collect up my ill-gotten gains and bid him farewell.

Back at the Humvee Savannah's disappointed to see I'm alone. What did she expect - I'd arrive with Allison tucked under my arm all tied with pretty ribbons? Women, eh? They want the world and they want it now. I explain how it panned out.

"Hundred miles north, you say?"

She takes out a map and spreads it over the dashboard while I get us up and running.

"Here. The Oakridge Power and Light Company. It's not that far really. Day and a half maybe."

I was thinking along the same lines myself. It was always gonna be a longshot springing the girl from Serrano Point, but out in the open... A five man team Birdy said, including two tech-weenies. It might be possible to separate Allison off and be there and gone before the others realise what's going down. Worth a shot anyway.

Back in the day a one hundred mile journey would've taken less than two hours on the freeway. Back in the day there weren't killer cyborgs to contend with. The freeways are definitely out; we'd be sitting ducks. I figure it will take us the rest of the day and part of tomorrow on the backroads. And that's if everything goes well.

Outside of the city it's surprising how well the road grid has held up. True the surface is uneven in places, buckled and cracked by minor earthquakes over the years, but nowhere is impassable - unlike the freeway system which has been bombed to hell and back by man or machine.

The Humvee moves smoothly through the suburbs. I keep a steady pace, never tempted to put my foot down even on the clearer, straighter sections. If we damaged the suspension travelling too fast then we're screwed basically. No Triple-A out here. Triple-8's, more like.

"Did you ever scavenge these houses?" Savannah asks as we cruise through another eerily silent community.

"Nope. Unless you strike it lucky and find a gun freak with a collection then all you'll find is clothes and a few canned goods. Not worth the trouble. And there's no where to hide if trouble finds you."

Pretty soon it's dusk and I manage to find an industrial area with warehouses where we can hide the Humvee. Skynet rules the night with its infra-red seeking HunterKillers and we need to take shelter before they begin flying missions. True, LA's a huge area and there's a pretty good chance we wouldn't be spotted. But if we were...

The warehouse I select has a rolldown door. I use wirecutters to slice through the rusty padlock, lift it up to make a gap, then reverse the Hummer inside.

"We're spending the night here?" Savannah asks looking around the empty barnlike structure.

"Here or under a bridge. Take your pick."

I roll the door back down and take out a thermal insulation blanket from our supplies. I drape this over the hood. It'll mask any thermal signature the engine gives off.

Savannah gets the primus stove out and starts supper: tinned soup with fresh vegetables and some freshly baked bread we brought with us. I fix a pot of tea; coffee's the last thing we need right now since we're not going anywhere until dawn. I search the offices adjacent to the warehouse and return with a couple of fat cushions from a sofa that's too big to shift. I set up a lamp so we can see what we're doing then we sit on them staring across at each other, two weary travellers who've found refuge for the night.

"I've never done this sort of thing before," Savannah admits.

"Kidnapping a girl from under John Connor's nose, you mean?"

"No, just...this. I rarely leave the compound. There's so much to do I never really think about outside."

She's had it easy. Spoilt rotten, in fact. No need to tell her that. Why get a girl mad at you when there's a chance of sex later?

"What's your mom really got in mind for this girl?" I ask.

Savannah shrugs. "She hasn't told me. She won't be harmed, Vinny. I'm sure of that."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"I just am."

"I think it's more than conicidence she looks like River. Want to know my theory?"

Savannah sighs and nods.

"Alison's River's great-great-great grandmother. Weaver thinks they share the same weird psychic abilites."

"I hardly think that's the case. For one thing, there's five hundred years separating them. That would be a hell of a genetic quirk."

We sit in silence for a while. In the soft light given off by the lamp Savannah looks remarkably like her mother. The way her red hair drapes across her shoulders, the set of her chin...

Suddenly it hits me like a punch to the solar plexus. Why didn't I think of it before?

Catherine Weaver's a shape-shifter! I've seen it with my own eyes. She can take the form of anything and anyone she chooses.

_Suppose this is her now._

I reach for my backpack and take out a long sharp knife.

"Savannah, is that really you?" I ask.

"What d'you mean?"

I tell her my theory keeping the knife just out of sight. She's pretty indignant, calling me a paranoid idiot.

"Then prove it," I say calmly.

"How?"

"Let me cut you."

"What? Are you insane?"

"Just a small cut. If you bleed you're human. If you don't..." I trail off.

She puffs her cheeks out nervously. Then stretches out her right arm. "Go ahead. Not too deep."

I take her little finger and make a crosswise cut, just enough to break the skin. Three red droplets of blood ooze out and drip on the concrete floor.

It's her. Savannah. Not Weaver. Human not TX.

"Sorry."

"Fuck you, you bastard!"

She sucks her cut finger and glares angrily at me.

"I had to know one way or the other."

"You really are a paranoid sonofabitch, aren't you?"

"Keeps me alive, sweetcakes."

"I'm sleeping in the Humvee. Alone."

I take out a sleeping bag and lay it on the ground. Flesh and bone and concrete don't mix that well and I toss and turn for several minutes before giving sleep up as a bad job.

I use a flashlight to explore the outer ring of offices and find my kind have been here before me. Scavengers. The place is picked clean. All that remains are some old desks and rusty file cabinets full of yellowing foolscap.

I find a door that's not locked and step outside. The night is cold and clear. No cloud cover. No moon. The unimaginably distant stars twinkle in the heavens, aloof and indifferent to humanity's plight. I see a shooting star and I'm tempted to make a wish. Where do I start? There are so many to choose from.

The shooting star alters direction.

_It's not a shooting star..._

A cone of light hits the ground, blazing a trail, probing the darkened streets and buildings. It's heading in our direction.

_HunterKiller!_

I race back the way I came, knocking over the primus stove in my haste.

"Savannah!"

A muffled voice, full of irritation. "Go away!"

There's no time to explain. That thing will be on top of us in mere seconds. I open the rear door and drag Savannah out by her ankles.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

"HunterKiller. Coming this way. Under the Humvee. Now!"

I'll say this for her, she doesn't waste time asking dumb questions. She scrambles under the vehicle. I join her. We lie side by side on our bellies, peering upwards.

Outside we can hear the sound of the turbo jets on full throttle, like rolling thunder coming ever closer.

"Christ, Vinny! I'm scared!"

"It's gonna be okay, kiddo."

"You don't know that!"

She's right; I don't. It seems like the thing to say and the right time to say it.

My thoughts are running ahead of events, calculating, weighing up the odds of us surviving.

_Chances are the insulation blanket will do its job and mask the engine's residual heat signature._

_Chances are the primus stove is cold by now._

_Chances are the Humvee's heavy chassis will shield our body heat from the infra red detectors._

_Chances are...just chances when all's said and done. A turn of a card. A flip of a coin. The roll of the dice._

The HKs on top of us now, directly overhead. The turbo jets shake the warehouse structure to its foundations. The thin aluminum roof seems to flex in the downdraft. The noise is immense. Light from the search beams leak in via the door crevices creating lances of artificial light that pierce the gloom, turning everything it touches to brightest day.

_I wait..._

_I wait for the laser cannon to start firing._

_I wait for the flimsy roof to disintegrate revealing our location._

_I wait for my brain to boil in its cranium._

_I wait and hope it's quick and painfree._

_I wait..._

The HK moves away. The noise diminishes and the light fades. I find I'm holding my breath. I breathe again. Air never tasted sweeter.

"Have they gone?" Savannah whispers.

"Seems like it."

_If I hadn't gone outside. If I hadn't pissed Savannah off. If we'd been in here screwing, our naked bodies radiating heat...I've never been so glad in my life not to get laid._

"Hold me, Vinny."

I oblige, pressing the front of my body against her back.

"Will they come back?"

"No. Not tonight."

"How d'you know?"

"I'm an optimist."

"Yeah, I guess- Hey! What's poking me? Is it what I think it is?"

"Maybe there's a gun in my pocket."

"You're incorrigible!"

"Part of my charm."

"Charm, he says! How can you think of that at a time like this?"

"How can I not think of that at a time like this? We should celebrate being alive."

"That sentence would be more profound if you didn't want to do it all the time."

"What can I say, I'm an Aries. The Ram."

Savannah giggles.

Actually I'm a Pisces - but what's sexy about a fish?

**-000-**

**Thanks for the reviews. Sorry you Cameron addicts didn't get your fix. I did consider using her, but what happens to Allison would never happen to Cameron.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Girl Named Allison**

**3**

Dawn, well, dawns. And Savannah and I have had what you might call contrasting night's sleep.

"I slept pretty well, considering," she says blithely. "How about you, Vinny?"

"I slept in a thin sleeping bag on a solid concrete floor. You do the math."

"Sorry but the back of the Humvee is very cramped. We'd be like sardines. And you know how priapic you are."

"What's priapic mean?"

A smirk. "Look it up in a dictionary."

"Oh. One of those words."

"You're so conceited you'll probably think it's a compliment."

"You think I'm conceited?"

"Please. If you were on a plate you'd eat yourself."

I suppose she's right. I've always been a fairly confident fella, comfortable in my own skin and ready to speak my mind, even on matters I know jackshit about. Except around River. Why didn't I tell her how I felt while I had the chance? Why did I leave it a until the very last moment, when she's about to be zapped into the future? It's something I beat myself up over on a daily basis.

"You ready to roll?" I say gruffly in an effort to expunge these feelings from my mind. "We can eat breakfast on the fly. I want to get this kidnapping done ASAP."

"Fine. I just need to pee first. Where's the bathroom?"

I sweep my arm around in an extravagant gesture encompassing the dingy warehouse in all its glory. "Take your pick."

"Oh gross!"

She'll learn.

Outside it's a bright sunny day and this lifts my mood immediately. Sunshine'll do that to you if you let it. I remember too many years spent in the Catskill mountains. Grey rainy days with a chill in the air that froze you to the bone. I didn't like the cold, especially after a childhood in Florida, and the grey winter skies always depressed me. California dreaming, as the song goes.

We consult the map. We're forty miles shy of Oakridge. Maybe half a morning's drive. We'll be there well before noon.

_The best laid plans of mice and men..._

Bridges. Every bridge we try and cross is demolished or damaged badly enough that we can't risk it. We're not talking the Golden Gate variety of bridge; just common or garden flyovers. All down. All impassable. We backtrack innumerable times and the morning just vanishes.

When we finally get a clear run without any bridges we hit another snag. A huge crater in the middle of the road. It's easily fifty feet in diameter and ten feet deep. Presumably a result of a convential bomb or a stray missile in the early years of the war. Already vegetation is growing out out of the great circular berm of earth. Still, it's an obstacle we could do without.

"You want to detour round?" Savannah asks brandishing the map.

"No, we can't waste any more time. I think I can squeeze a way through."

_Famous last words._

I slow the Humvee to a crawl. The last thing I need is to damage the suspension on a stray boulder. We're almost clear when it appears in front of us.

_Terminator!_

A T-800. Early model but no less lethal for that. It grabs the front of the Hummer and lifts it clear off the ground. I see no recourse but the following.

"Bail!"

Savannah stays where she is. She's taken a small torch-like device form her pack and is pointing it at the T-800. A pencil-thin beam of red light plays around its eyes. A laser of some kind? Maybe it'll slice the thing's head off.

No such luck. But it does stop trying to tip the Humvee over.

"Savannah..."

"Just a second."

The terminator lowers the vehicle to the ground and does something I've never seen before in my life.

It smiles.

"Catherine Weaver?" it asks in that peculiar accent that reminds you of Nazi villains.

"I'm her daughter, Savannah. We're on official Zeira Corps business. Please let us pass."

It stares malevolently at me, all trace of a smile gone. What can I say? I give a lousy first impression.

"Who is he?"

"He's with me. Catherine Weaver vouches for us both."

"Very well. Proceed."

The terminator steps to one side. My jaw is pretty much on the floor at this point so I can hardly be blamed for being slow on the uptake.

"Vinny, you heard the - _uh_ - man. Drive."

I restart the stalled engine and we leave the T-800 behind. It stares at us, watching us leave. I'm so far gone mentally I wouldn't be surprised if it waved and blew kisses.

When we've put half a mile or so between us my voice is finally steady enough to ask, "What the fuck was that?"

"What was what?"

"That thing you shone in its eyes."

"Just a gadget mom put together. Everyone who works at Zeira Corps has one."

"I don't have one," I point out with some asperity.

"You don't? Are you sure?"

"I think I'd remember something like that."

"Oh. Well, I guess mom forgot."

It doesn't strike me as something Weaver would forget. I keep my thoughts to myself. Obviously Weaver didn't want me to have one.

"What does it do?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I think it relays some kind of message that tells them we're not part of the Resistance and therefore should be left alone."

"Pretty handy."

"I guess."

I want one. I want one so bad it hurts. For someone in my line of work such a tool would be invaluable. It would be the difference between life and death. Maybe that's why Weaver never gave me one; she knew the temptation to fly the coop and use it would be irresistable.

"Does it work on HunterKillers?"

"No. Strictly close range stuff."

"Can't you upsize it? Fit a more powerful laser."

"You'll have to take it up with mom."

"Yeah, right. I think that'd be one short conversation."

There are no more scares or alarums and when we arrive at Oakridge in the late afternoon we find there's no ridge and little evidence of any oaks. It's a flat featureless plain littered with tract housing, criss-crossed with a standard gridwork of two-lane blacktop. Presumably Oakridge was a name dreamt up by the realtor to tempt gullible customers.

The houses are still here but the front and back yards, still clearly defined, are fast becoming virgin forest. If the war drags on for a few more decades then Skynet and the Resistance are going to be fighting over a land newly covered in trees.

"Look! A deer!"

I turn in the direction Savannah's pointing. Sure enough it's a deer, stood in someone's yard chewing the lush vegetation. Its head turns as our big V8 makes its presence known. Spooked, its gone as suddenly as it appeared, tawny hind legs flashing vividly amid the green foiliage.

"Wasn't it beautiful?"

"A beautiful dinner that got away."

Savannah rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. She's now in a huff. I can tell.

Obviously something I said.

Oakridge Power and Light is situated on the edge of the housing development and surrounded on all three sides by high embankments, presumably to try and lesson the noise and pollution this place would've generated. This has meant the buildings have survived relatively intact.

We leave the Humvee and climb the embanked slopes. Once these must have been grassed over and mown regularly, but now are home to invading sumach, pine scrub and the ubiquitous sycamore trees. I lower myself into the leaf litter at the apex. It smells moist and earthy amd not at all unpleasant. Nature can surprise you that way sometimes.

"There they are!"

"I've got eyes," I reply curtly. "And get down. They might spot you."

Savannah crouches while I take out bincoculars for a closer look. A military-style flatbed truck is parked in the otherwise empty lot. It's half full of salvaged equipment. They won't be here much longer. We arrived just in time it seems.

"Right, Allison, let's see how security minded you are," I mutter to myself.

I presume as leader she'll be inside supervising the two techies. Will she leave two lookouts or just the one? I examine the cab of the flatbed. Doors and windows closed. The sun's still hot; anyone inside that cab would roast. I scan the roof of the building which is flat and offers good views on all sides. That would be my pick. Sure enough I spot someone straight off. Just the one guy in army fatigues, slowly walking the perimeter with an Uzi strapped to his back. Chances are he'll have a radio to communicate with those inside. Any trouble and they'll be out like gangbusters.

_So don't make any trouble, at least none he can see..._

I note that as the soldier circulates he passes behind an array of chimneys and pipes which briefly block his view of the entrance. How briefly? I check my wristwatch. Forty-eight seconds elapse before he reappears. The distance from where we are to the entrance must be one-fifty yards or so. Can I make it in forty-eight seconds? My life may pretty much depend on it.

We scramble back down the slope to the Humvee. I explain my plan to Savannah. She nods encouragement but then it's not her ass on the line.

"What d'you want me to do?"

"Get back up there with the bincs. Watch the grunt like a hawk. If he shows any sign of coming down radio me a warning. Otherwise maintain radio silence."

Impulsively she kisses me. "Take care, Vinny." I pull her close and kiss her right back, dropping my hand to squeeze her butt cheeks. Maybe for luck. Maybe for old time's sake. Or maybe because that's just the kinda guy I am.

I take off at a sprint across the lot. I'm running as fast as I can but it feels like I'm running through molasses. Tension'll do that to ya. Any moment I expect to hear the rattle of that Uzi. It'll be the last thing I hear.

_It doesn't come._

I reach the entrance in one piece and stop there panting and sucking air into my lungs.

From inside the building comes the unmistakable sound of a power drill. It comes and goes regular like. When it comes I walk forward using its noise to mask my steps. When it goes I stop and listen.

In this fashion I edge further and further into the building until I come to the final corner. The noise is very loud here. When it ceases I can hear talk. Instructions being issued and I guess obeyed.

The next time the racket starts up I risk a glance round the corner. A quick in and out. Then I duck back and consider what I saw.

_A large cavernous chamber. Several huge generators. A scaffold erected beside one. The two tech wienies high above the ground working with tools. Allison and the second grunt beneath, staring upwards, Uzi's strapped casually across their backs._

First, there's no way I can think off to lure Allison away from this busy tableau. If I make a noise for her to come investigate the grunt will probably come along too. Nothing for it but to take them all out at once.

I take two small silver spheres from my backpack. Stun grenades. I set the timer fuse and roll them into the cavern. I push myself hard against the wall and close my eyes.

_BOOM!_

The deadly little beauties do their work. The techies are collapsed on top of one another on their scaffold. Lucky they didn't fall off. Allison and the Grunt are flat on their backs, spark out. I figure the sheer size of this place will mask the noise from the guard on the roof.

I pick Allison up and throw her over my shoulder in an improvised fireman's carry. I head off back the way I came. At the entrance I take out my walkie-talkie. I sure hope Savannah's paying attention and not painting her nails.

_"It's me. Is it clear?"_

_"No. Wait. I'll tell you when."_

What with my pack plus Allison and her pack, there must be 200 pounds of dead weight resting on my back. My knees creak painfully reminding me of this fact. One hundred fifty yards to cover in 48 seconds. Suddenly it seems a mighty tall order.

_"Okay. Clear."_

I take off at a fast jog. In my head a clock relentlessly ticks.

_...23,24,25.26,27,28..._

Am I more than half way? Don't know. Can't risk looking behind. Balance is everything.

_...34,35,36,37,38..._

Christ, my knees feel like they're on fire!

_40,41.42,43,44,45,46..._

Made it! Past the embankment I go. There's no stopping me.

I make it all the way to the Humvee on pure adrenalin and stash Allison in the backseat. Then I lean over and try and get as much oxygen in my lungs as possible. I feel sick and groggy and elated all at the same time. Dammit, I did it! And I never ever want to do it again, that's for sure.

Savannah joins me. "You okay?" she asks.

"I've...been...better." I confess panting.

"You're out of shape. It's all that lying around the pool you do."

"Appreciate...your...concern."

When I've recovered enough I get behind the wheel and begin the journey away from here. What kind of headstart will we get, I wonder? I've no idea how long the effects of the stun grenades will last. Eventually the lookout on the roof is gonna get suspicious and go below. I figure they'll waste a fair bit of time searching the building for their missing leader. It's a big place. I'm counting on at least an hour before they begin a wider search. By then we'll be long gone.

We take a different route back. I'm mindful of that T-800 wandering about, gadget or no gadget.

"Vinny, are you sure she's okay?"

"Take the wheel and I'll check."

Savannah holds the wheel steady while I reach behind and put my hand on Allison's neck. Pulse strong and regular.

"She's fine."

An hour later she's still out. I check again. Pulse strong and regular. Maybe those things screw the brain up and leave the heart and lungs unaffected? Kinda late in the day to be thinking these thoughts.

We lose the daylight having put fifty miles between us and Oakridge Power and Light. Time to find shelter.

"We need somewhere to stash the Humvee and sleep tonight," I tell Savannah. "Holler if you see a Hyatt Regancy."

"Very funny."

"I thought so."

We don't find a five star hotel but we do come across another warehouse, this one the size of an aircraft hanger. No matter. Any port in a storm.

Once parked safely inside I put the insulation blanket over the hood as before then carry Allison from the backseat and put her on the floor propped up against the Humvee's front right wheel. I remove her backpack and toss it well out of her reach. I use plastic cuffs to secure her hands behind her back and cinch her ankles together.

"Is that really necessary?" Savannah demands frowning.

"Uh huh. When she wakes up she's gonna be pretty pissed at us."

"Shouldn't she have woken up by now?"

"You'd think."

I check her pulse again. Same as before. Nothing to do but wait. And hope.

I set up the primus and get dinner going. I'm famished; putting your life on the line works up an appetite and no mistake.

"She sure looks like River, doesn't she."

"Dead ringer," I agree.

"Maybe it is more than coincidence."

A thought strikes me. Or rather a recent memory. I cross to the girl and remove her right boot and sock.

"Vinny, what are you doing?"

"When River was with me she trod on a nail. Made a pretty deep cut. I was worried it'd turn septic. It would've left a scar."

"Vinny..."

I inspect the sole of Allison Young's right foot. Nothing. No mark at all. Just pale slightly wrinkled flesh.

"Vinny, please, it's not her. I know how much you want it to be. I know the love you feel for River is eating you up inside, but this girl isn't her."

I grunt a surly acknowledgement. For just a second there I let myself believe that I had River back. And it felt good. Better than good it felt...right.

Allison comes round when we've finished our meals. Her breathing pattern changes but she doesn't open her eyes. Crafty girl. Playing possum, hoping it'll gain her some advantage. Not on my watch.

"Fancy some tea, Allison?" I ask breezily. "I've brewed a new pot."

No reply. Still faking it.

"Come on, I know you're awake. Have some tea. It's good stuff. The British knew what they were doing when they invented tea."

"Chinese," Savannah says.

"What?"

"The Chinese invented tea, not the British."

"Well aren't you the brainiac. You wanna gold star?"

She shrugs. "Is what it is."

"C'mon, Allison. Wakey wakey."

Nothing. It's starting to get old.

"Okay, if you're asleep you won't mind if I reach over and give those pretty titties a squeeze."

That does it. Her eyes snap open. I grin wolfishly to show it was all a ruse. She lets go a stream of expletives and cuss words. I've heard most of them. Hell, I've deserved most of them.

"Whoever you are, you're dead," she concludes. "Connor's gonna kill you."

"He'll have to find us first."

Allison glares at me then glances over at her backpack which is a good twenty feet out of reach. I'm sure she has a pistol in there and is thinking how sweet it'd be to point it at my head and pull the trigger. I don't take offense. I'd feel the same in her position, even if it's entirely possible by kidnapping her we're saving her life.

"Name's Vinny Savage," I tell her. I nod at Savannah. "That's Savannah Weaver. We're your hosts for the night."

"We're not gonna harm you!" Savannah blurts. "You won't believe it but we're actually protecting you."

"You're Catherine Weaver's daughter, aren't you?"

"Yes. Have you met my mother?"

"No. I've heard about her. Metal. Advanced model. Based in Redondo Beach. There are those of us at Serrano wouldn't mind lobbing a few missiles in your direction."

"Then why don't you?"

"Connor won't permit it. Maybe he'll change his mind now."

"Here's hoping," I grin. "The place needs livening up." Savannah shoots me a dirty look.

"Sure you won't have some tea?"

"Stick it. Wait. Yeah. Okay. Untie me."

"That's not how it works."

I hold a mug to her lips and gently tilt. She takes a mouthful then spits it right back in my face.

I smile and wipe it away with the back of my hand.

"Thanks for the money shot. Maybe I'll return the favour some day."

"Pig!"

I take out a deck of cards I've been saving specially for this moment and shuffle the pack. Allison eyes me warily. I select a card and show it to her.

"What card is it?"

"How should I know?"

"Use your intuition."

"Jack of assholes."

"Cute." I shuffle afresh and offer up another card.

"Vinny, what are you doing?" Savannah hisses.

"Humour me. What's the card? Concentrate."

"King of jerkoffs."

I smile thinly. "You're not trying."

"Gee, what gave me away?"

"Vinny, it's not her. How many more times."

"Who does he think I am?" Allison demands.

"No one you've heard of."

I put the cards away. Not wholly unexpected but worth a shot.

Allison glances over at her backpack again. Yeah, she'd gun me down in a second. Funny the effect I have on certain women. Must be my cologne.

"What happened to the rest of my team?"

"Should be safe if a little groggy." I explain about the stun grenades. "It was a mistake leaving just one grunt up on the roof."

Allison nods. "I wanted two up there but the machinery we were shifting was too heavy."

"I'd have set up a motion detector in the passageway. Never hurts to have backup," I tell her smugly.

She tells me precisely where I can stick my motion detector. I grin. I'm beginning to like this girl and it has nothing to do with her resemblence to River. She's feisty. I like feisty. They tend to be energetic in the sack in my experience.

"Untie me. I gotta pee."

"Na huh. If you really gotta pee then I'm gonna carry you to a corner, pull your pants down, wait while you do the biz, then tug 'em right up. Not 'cause that's how I get my jollies. I just think if I cut you loose for a second you'll cause me a big mess of trouble. Still wanna go?"

She shakes her head her bluff called and curses me out again. She glances over at the backpack. Odd. Why does she keep doing that? There's no way she can reach-

"Oh shit!"

I cross to the pack with a really sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I upend it, causing the contents to cascade out over the rough concrete floor. As expected a pistol topples out. Spare ammo. Food. Water canteen. Change of clothes including some pretty pink panties that would normally rivet my attention.

Finally a small plastic box no bigger than a matchbox. It has wires attached. Antenna.

"Dammit!"

I stamp on it, shattering it into tiny pieces. Too late? Maybe not. If we hurry.

"Pack up. We're getting out of here."

"What? But it's dark outside. You said-"

"Forget what I said. We've no choice. She had a location tracker in her backpack. Connor's people will know where we are."

A single gunshot, loud in the enclosed space.

The lamp shatters and goes out.

Savannah screams.

I whirl around, disoriented in the sudden darkness. Something hits me hard on the back of the head and that's all I know.

That and the bitter realisation that I'm in a whole heap of shit.

**-000-**


	4. Chapter 4

**A Girl Named Allison**

**4**

I regain consciousness with my chin resting on my chest. My head hurts like a sonofabitch. I'm seated in an upright position, my wrists and ankles cuffed to the frame of a simple wooden chair. I'm still in the warehouse. A new lamp casts its artificial glow, illuminating a circle about twelve feet in diameter. Beyond that is darkness. Utter black. There could be anything out there and my imagination gleefully suggests a few nasties.

"Savannah?"

Nothing. Just the echo of my voice in the cavernous warehouse.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

The scrape of boots against concrete from behind me. I twist my head round and catch a glimpse of well-worn boots and khaki army fatigues. He - I'm pretty sure it's a he - stays out of the circle of light until directly in front of me. Then he steps forward, allowing me to see his face.

My breath catches in my throat.

_John Connor._

There are so many stories about this man it's hard to separate myth from fact.

_His mother, the equally legendary Sarah Connor, is supposed to have had a premonition about the War and raised her son to become a warrior._

_Only John Connor can reprogram terminators to do his bidding._

_He's the Chosen One. But chosen by whom?_

And on and on.

It's enough to give a fella an inferiority complex.

"John Connor, I presume?" I ask in as steady a voice as I can muster.

"Vincent Savage."

"I prefer Vinny."

"I'm sure you do."

"It's an honour you even know my name."

"There's no honour in what you did. Or tried to do."

"Listen, I wasn't planning on harming the girl."

He waves me to silence.

"Savannah already talked. Weaver had no right interfering in my business."

"Is she okay?"

"I sent her home with orders to stay there. And a warning for her mother. My patience has limits."

"I was told we were saving Allison Young's life. That in three days she'd be captured by Skynet, tortured and killed."

I expect Connor to scoff, tell me what a dupe I've been listening to a machine. Instead he nods.

"Actually, it's more like two days."

"You -_ know?"_

"It's a date I've been dreading."

"But if you know surely you're not gonna let it happen?"

He turns away and I realise he is gonna let it happen.

"You sonofabitch. She's just a girl."

"I know precisely what she is. And what's at stake."

"And what's that?"

"Billions of lives. The chance to change things. Again. Prevent Judgement Day from ever happening."

"And how will letting Allison Young to die accomplish that?"

"I don't need to explain myself to the likes of you, Savage. You've never had to make an executive decision, a judgement call, in your life. This is beyond your imagining. You can't ask me anything I haven't asked myself over and over. Be grateful for that because it means you'll sleep at nights."

I test my binds. They don't give an inch.

"What about me?"

"Savannah begged me to spare your life. I'm not without mercy. My people at Oakridge aren't seriously injured. I'm told that you're a scavenger, one of the best, if that's not a contradiction in terms; that you don't take sides and by your own dubious standards you're a standup guy. If there was blood on your hands I wouldn't be wasting my breath on you."

"Does that little speech mean you're gonna let me go?"

A curt nod. "There are some provisos. One, if you return to Zeira Corps then you stay there for the duration. Step foot outside and my people have orders to shoot you on sight. Or you can leave California and stay out. Ply your trade elsewhere. Pick a state, any state, just don't interfere in my plans again."

"House arrest or banishment? That's my choice?"

"Take it or leave it."

"Oh I'll take it."

"Thought you would." He moves towards the door. "Oh, I almost forgot. Savannah was most insistent I give you this." He throws the laser torch she used to quell the T-800 at my feet. "It appears to be a low-grade laser. She said you'd know what to do with it."

"Hey! Aren't you gonna untie me?"

"That's a wooden chair. You're a big strong guy. Father was a boxer I understand. You should be able to break free in a few hours."

"A few hours! And if I don't?"

"Then you're shit out of options."

He ignores the rest of my entreaties and increasingly desperate pleas. The door opens and closes. I hear the sound of a vehicle starting up and being driven away. Then it's silent, save for my panicky breathing. Man, do I land myself in some pickles.

I spend the next hour or so pogoing up and down trying to break apart the chair under me. The cuffs chafe my wrists so bad my hands are soon slippery with blood. The chair remains intact. It's a tough little fucker and no mistake. I scream with frustration before realising there might be terminators on the prowl outside and I'm a sitting duck. Literally.

Maybe Connor meant it to end like this. A long, slow death from thirst and starvation, my strength gradually ebbing away.

"Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!"

I nearly topple over and that sobers me up pretty damn toot sweet. If I fall there'll be no prospect of escape.

"Okay, Vinny, think it over. Use that brain of yours. Smart like a fox, remember?"

I tilt the chair slightly so that I can bring my full weight to bear by isolating two legs of the chair instead of four. Forward, up and down. Forward, up and down.

"C'mon! C'mon!"

Finally after what seems an eternity, the front chair legs snap off and I'm able to stand up at last. I cross to the wall of the warehouse and slam the remains of the chair repeatedly against the solid structure.

The chair disintegrates and I'm free.

I pocket the laser torch and take a peek outside. By the height of the sun it's mid-afternoon. I was hoping I'd find the Humvee out here, fueled and ready to roll. No such luck. I've been left nothing. Not even a water canteen. Connor's not the hospitable type.

I judge which direction is west and lurch away from the warehouse. My legs feel stiff and my arms ache from my exertions. There's still a long way to go.

Best get started then.

-0-

It takes me two and half days to cover the fifty miles to Redondo Beach. Mostly it's uneventful if not particularly pleasant. There's little to eat and my water supply is puddles and blocked drainage culverts.

I'm beginning to think I've made it when five miles from Zeira Corps HQ I run into a terminator. My luck, eh?

A triple-8 emerges from a ruined building right in front of me, spotting me at once. I have an overhwhelming urge to turn tail and run. It'd be a short and fatal race in my enfeebled condition. Instead I stand my ground and point Savannah's little gadget at the thing advancing towards me. My hands are trembling so much I can barely keep it aimed at its eyes.

Just when I think nothing's happening, the T-888 slows and stops. I keep the red laser light pointed directly at its irises. Then it speaks.

"Catherine Weaver?"

"Vinny Savage. I'm on official Zeira Corps business."

Man, I hope this thing doesn't have an expiration date.

I get no smile like before but its next utterings are like music to my soul.

"You may proceed."

I fight the urge to run. I walk at normal pace for fifty yards then can't resist a peek behind me.

The T-888 is gone.

-0-

I stand in front of the gates at Sea World and allow the security cameras to give me the once over. Thirty seconds later the gates swing open. I offer a smile and a weary salute to my unseen benefactor.

Savannah Weaver runs out to meet me when I'm halfway across the compound. Such is the state I'm in she almost bowls me over as she throws herself into my arms.

"Vinny! Oh God, I was so worried! Connor wouldn't let me hang around and pick you up."

"I understand, sweetie."

"God, you look like shit warmed over."

She has a way with words does Savannah.

-0-

I eat a hearty meal for three, down my bodyweight weight in fluids and go to bed. Alone. I'm only interested in sleep. There's a first time for everything.

I sleep until noon the next day. When I wake up Catherine Weaver is standing at the foot of my bed.

"You're awake at last, Mr Savage."

"So it appears. Unless this is a nightmare."

"Very droll. I'm disappointed with you, Mr Savage. Very disappointed."

"One tiny mistake. I should've dumped her backpack. For want of a nail, eh?"

"The kingdom was lost. Indeed. It may interest you to learn that Allison Young was captured by Skynet forces twenty-four hours ago. Fate presently unknown."

I remain silent. So Connor wasn't fooling around. That psycho sonofabitch.

"Why do I get the impression Allison Young was just a pawn in some bizarre game between you and Connor."

"A pawn? Yes, I suppose that is an apt description. Though it is no game. The fate of Allison Young is pivotal to human and machine destinies alike."

"Ironic that you, a machine, should want her alive while Connor, a human, should want her dead."

"It's a complicated story, Mr Savage. Don't concern yourself with it."

"That's pretty much the same condescending bullshit Connor handed out. Come on, I think I deserve a little more."

"Very well. I have come to the conclusion that there are many and varied timelines. In some Skynet wins the War. In others the Resistance triumphs. In still others there is impasse; an unstable truce."

"Which is the real timeline?"

"It depends on your perspective."

"If Skynet win, somewhere somehow, why do they bother fighting this War?"

"If I told you there was a timeline where you lived the perfect life would you lay down and die in this one?"

"Not a chance."

"Of course not. It's all a matter of perspective."

We regard each other warily. I get the feeling she's toying with me intellectually and it's been going on a very long time now.

"What will you do now, Mr Savage? You feel suffocated here at Zeira Corps. Yet John Connor has effectively banished you from California."

"There are plenty of other states."

"But this is where the action is. Here is where our destinies will be decided."

"Maybe I've had my fill of being at the heart of the action."

"I hardly think that's the case. River changed you, didn't she, Mr Savage. Or possibly awakened some quality dormant inside you that you never knew existed. You enjoyed your chivalrous stint at her side. That's why you agreed to save Allison Young. It had nothing to do with the thousand gallons of gasoline on offer."

"You're wrong. I'm not the chilvalrous type."

"So you insist. You give the impression of a boorish oaf, yet I believe you possess a keen intelligence, certainly more than you are prepared to divulge. Are you afraid people will accuse you of being smart?"

"I find the dumber I act the less chance I'll be judged a threat."

"Most perspicacious of you." A trace of a smile. Gone as soon as it appears.

"I'll be out of your hair in a few days. Just as soon as I'm rested up."

"No rush. Your presence comforts my daughter. I find her happiness is important to me."

"How come?"

"You're not the only one learning about yourself as you go along."

-0-

I stay for three days, ostensibly recuperating from my ordeal but really waiting for something I know will happen.

And it does. On my third day back Catherine Weaver leaves the compound.

Where she goes I have no idea. She goes AWOL every now and then. Maybe she communes with nature, gets back to the Garden like some latter day metallic hippy. Somehow I doubt it. She's generally gone three or four days. It's my big chance, the one I've been waiting for, and I seize it with both hands.

Midnight. I'm sneaking around the basement. This is the nerve centre of the whole Zeira Corps operation. I learnt the access codes and security protocols weeks ago. I wouldn't be much of a scavenger if I didn't know where the valuable stuff is kept, or how to get at it.

I find what I'm looking for and carry it outside, stowing it away in the cavernous trunk of the Humvee. Time to say my goodbyes.

Savannah's the only person to see me off. I guess if you ridicule most of the staff, subject them to your neanderthal japes and prejudices, then you shouldn't be surprised if they could care less if you stay or go, live or die.

"You don't have to go, Vinny."

"Sure I do, babe. I'll go stir crazy if I stay. There's nothing for me here anyway."

"There's me."

"And this is where you belong. It's your home." I give her a hug. "You'll be fine. Stick up to your mom more. You have more leeway there than you think."

"This is because of River, isn't it?"

"Uh - I think Connor deserves most of the blame. He was pretty unequivical I had to rot here or get the hell out of Dodge."

"You've got to get over River. And please don't say she has to get under you first."

"Hey, pretty good line. Have to remember that."

"Oh Vinny!"

Tears. I hate tears. I climb behind the wheel and spark the engine. The throaty V8 responds immediately. I gun it, drowning out Savannah's snivelling. Pure coincidence, naturally.

I drive out of the Zeira Corp compound for the last time. I don't look back.

-0-

The Mojave desert. Its existed for thousands of years and will be probably still be much the same thousands of years from now. Man or machine won't alter that. Sand and scrub and Joshua trees. Change comes slowly if at all to a place like this.

I drive for thirty miles then turn off, steering the Humvee towards one of the canyons. Here I stop, get out and start dismantling the vehicle piece by piece.

It's hot work but I find what I'm looking for after an hour's methodical search. It's wedged between the fuel tank. A small black box. With wires attached. Antenna.

_A radio transmitter._

It's once bitten twice shy for me with these things. Who planted it there? My money's on Connor's people. He had the opportunity back at the warehouse. He seemed pretty insistent I stay out of California and this is the logical way to ensure I do. Second pick would be Savannah. I think she really does care about me and I wouldn't put it past her to have one of the geeks install a device so she can monitor where I am day and night. A distant third would be Catherine Weaver. Can't see it myself. I always got the impression I was little more than a half-trained house pet to her, designed to amuse and keep her daughter from finding out what the hell it is she's really up to.

I leave it on top of a well-weathered rock. Maybe the person who planted it will get curious when it never moves and come check. I'll be long gone. Maybe I should leave a message traced in the sand and shale: _Vinny Was Here. And Now Isn't_. I decide not to bother.

I patch the vehicle up and drive back to the road, going another twenty miles purely to put some distance between me and the bug. Then I steer off-road again, drive the Humvee across the desert hardpan up into another canyon. Here I stop and remove from the trunk the object I stole from the Zeira Corps basement labs.

_A time machine._

Oh I know that's a pretty crude description, but that's how I think of it. It's small, black and square and looks pretty sophisticated for a caveman like me to operate. But I watched closely when Weaver used an identical device to send River back to the future, like a cuter, sexier Marty McFly. It's no DeLorean but I think I've got a handle on how it works.

I plug the leads into the Humvee's external power outlet. Little LEDS glow green. Green for go. I know for a fact these things are calibrated for River's time. That's what I'm counting on. I'm hanging my ass out over the ragged edge like never before. Man, love makes you do some crazyass things and no mistake.

I take a last look round then throw the switch.

_!JESUS!CHRIST!ALMIGHTY!_

The next thing I know I'm crouched over trying to catch my breath. My insides feel like they've been given an almighty squeeze by some unseen force. Oh, and here's the clincher.

_I'm stark naked._

How'd that happen? Was I unconscious and someone snuck up and stole my clothes? But why take my kecks? That's plain...weird.

Anyway, my priority is obvious: steal some clothes so little Vinny and the boys aren't flapping in the breeze longer than necessary. Gotta keep those fellas safe and sound otherwise life wouldn't be worth living.

I'm on a metal gantry high above an empty cargo hold. There's a low background hum from some sort of machinery. I also get the sense that there's nothing substantial underneath this vessel except water. Maybe we're docked at a harbour. And if it is a ship then it'll have cabins, crew quarters. Clothes. A weapon. Get the fundamantals right and the rest will surely follow.

I find a cabin soon enough. A man's judging by the smell and the guns just lying around. None of them are models I recognise. But they all have a barrel, magazine and trigger. Point and shoot, that's all I really need to know.

I raid the guy's wardrobe, taking a tee shirt that fits and some pants that don't. Little too long in the leg which suggests my unknown benefactor is taller than me yet no bulkier. Good to know if it comes to a smackdown. Wouldn't want to be too far out of my weight division. Boots fit well enough too. I select one of the pistols on offer and take my leave.

I make my way back to the cargo hold and start nosing around when I hear someone coming. I take the gun out and step back into the shadows and await developments.

It's a girl. Slim brunette maybe my age. Pretty but she'd be prettier if she wasn't wearing a shapeless boiler suit and didn't have oil smudges on her hands and face. Time to introduce myself as only I can.

"Stop right there, honeybuns. I'm not gonna hurt you less you make me. Or ask me nice."

She complies. I get the impression she's more surprised than scared, like this has happened to her before.

"Mister, you be pulling that trigger we'll both be breathing the black and no mistake."

I'm about to ask what this means when someone else joins the party. Tall guy. Short dark hair and a mean excuse for a beard. Got the feeling it's his clothes I've stolen.

"Kaylee, you bin in ma quarters? I'm missing a -"

He spots me. I show him the gun, his gun most likely. Good. He'll know what it can do.

"Gorram, them's ma clothes!"

"Consider it a loan."

"Jayne, where's the cap'tn?" the girl asks.

"Mal's planetside with Wash and Zoe."

"Inara?"

"Away servicin' a client."

"So it's just you, me, Book, the Doc and River."

"River? Did you say River? Is she here?" This is better than I could've hoped.

"You know the young 'un?"

"Yeah, I know her. Bring her to me. Now! No funny business."

"I ain't yer durn skivvy. And that girl ain't so partial to being found, least wise by me."

I level the gun at his head. "Then I suggest you try harder."

He leaves. I wait. The girl - Kaylee? - waits.

"So you and River are acquainted, huh?"

"You might say that."

"Friend or..?."

"Lover? I should be so lucky."

"I was gonna say foe."

The tall guy - Jayne? - returns. No River. Just another stranger, slightly better dressed. White shirt under a waistcoat. Neat dark hair. Clean shaven.

"Who are you?" he asks. "And what d'you want with my sister?"

"Name's Vinny Savage. It's a very long and strange story."

"Wait - you're Vincent? River mentioned you. I thought it was part of a psychotic episode when she went missing, that you were a figment of her imagination."

"I've been called plenty of things, Doc, but never a figment of someone's imagination."

And then there she is...Same floaty dress as I remember. Dark, lank hair. Pouty lips. Bambi eyes...that don't appear to recognise me. Christ, am I that unmemorable? Have I come all this way for...nothing? Then she smiles, those pouty lips part and my heart does the thing they used to sing about in songs listened to on the radio. I drop the gun. The big fella snaffles it up. I barely notice.

River takes my hand and we turn and face the others.

"This is Vincent," she announces simply. "He's my friend. He's good at stealing things that aren't his."

The girl named Kaylee smiles crookedly. "Should fit right in."

**-END-**

**Quite a coincidence Vinny time-hopping aboard **_**Serenity**_**(!)**

**Weaver's motive in kidnapping Allison? Vinny never finds out so neither do we. I figure she just likes to meddle.**

**Vinny will return in **_**A Spaceship Named Serenity**_**, a Firefly fanfic. **

**Next though - more **_**Secret Diary of Cameron Baum...**_


End file.
